


Burn for me, Detective

by cavendishtogopls



Series: WITCHCRAFT AU [2]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Semblances (RWBY), Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, F/F, F/M, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29105601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cavendishtogopls/pseuds/cavendishtogopls
Summary: Blake Belladonna is an established young woman working as a private investigator for Belladonna Investigations. She has her own home, her own firm and stable career. But when a dear friend approached her for a case close to her heart, she just couldn't say no. Even when said friend insist they go to a seer of all people when the case hit a dead end. It also doesn't help that said seer is drop dead gorgeous, with dangerously distracting lilac eyes and ridiculously charming smile that is Yang Xiao Long.The Detective Blake Belladonna and Seer Yang Xiao Long no one asked for. Yang is a Witch, this is in the same world as my ongoing work Snow White and the Red Wolf. Yang and Ruby are cousins instead of being sisters for plot purposes. Rating is mature for future chapters. This is steamy slow burn. Don't read unless you don't have the patience for it. Established Renora and Arkos.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long, Diana Cavendish/Atsuko "Akko" Kagari, Jaune Arc/Pyrrha Nikos, Lie Ren/Nora Valkyrie, Raven Branwen/Taiyang Xiao Long, Ruby Rose/Weiss Schnee
Series: WITCHCRAFT AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1652068
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi so this was the promised BB fic. It took me so long to decide on a title. I was also having a hard time deciding whether to post this or the Diakko one first so I decided I would work on all of them since the plot kind of mentions these 3 stories together. They're not interconnected in a way that messes with the plot. These are standalone stories that mentions the characters involved. I'll post the Diakko one later this week.

Yang understood her power early. What coursed through her blood and made her what she was did not have to be explained to her. Nor did she have to be told that this gift was one not possessed by anyone.

She could see.

The visions were not always pleasant but they were always fascinating. When they came, even to a small girl whose legs were still unsteady, she accepted them as easily as she accepted the sun rising each morning. 

Often, her mother would crouch on the floor with her, her face close to hers. Raven's red eyes searching her lavender ones. Mixed with her love was a hope that she would always accept the gift and that he would never be hurt by it. 

Though Raven knew better on both counts.

Who are you? Yang could hear thoughts as clearly as if Raven had spoken aloud. Who will you be?

They were questions she couldn't answer. Even when Yang understood that it was more difficult to see into yourself than to see into others.

As time passed, the gift did not prevent Yang from racing against her cousin, Ruby and teasing her younger cousin, Diana. Though often, quite often, she strained against its limitations and tried for more, it didn't keep her from enjoying an ice cream cone on a summer afternoon or from laughing at cartoons on a Saturday morning. 

She was a normal, active, mischievous girl with a sharp, sometimes sly mind, a strikingly beautiful face set off by hypnotic lavender eyes and full mouth quick to throw in a smirk or smile.

She went through all the stages that lead a girl towards womanhood. The scraped knees and broken bones, the rebellions large and small, going against her mother's wishes and the small, jumpy heartbeat at the smile of a pretty girl. She grew into an adult, moved away from her parents' domain and the power grew as she did.

Yang considered her life a well adjusted one and accepted as she always had, the simple fact that she was a witch.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is my Blake Belladonna. This is my first time writing a BB centered fic. Diakko and White rose is more my forte. I hope I did a decent job. No beta readers so forgive the misuse of pronouns. And fair warning, I'm going to hurt Renora a bit for the duration of this fic. I hope y'all forgive me for it.

Blake dreamed of a woman who was dreaming of her. But she wasn’t sleeping. Blake could see, with a perfect clarity that was extremely undreamlike, that the woman was standing by a wide, dark window, with arms relaxed by her sides. But her face was very tense, very purposeful. And her eyes … They were so deep, so unrelenting. Lavender bordering on purple, Blake thought as she twisted in sleep. But not quite purple. There were subtle hints of blue, as well. The color of them reminded her of soft royal velvet doned upon his Majesty's table on a round table summon with his knights. A freshly cut amethyst hanging on an intricate gold chain offered by a noble prince winning the heart of his betrothed princess. It was alluring, mysterious and draws Blake in like a cat to tuna.

Strange—how strange—Blake knew that her face was taut and tensed, but she couldn’t see it. Just those eyes, those fascinating, disturbing eyes.

And Blake knew the woman was thinking of her. Not just thinking of her, but somehow seeing her. As if she had walked up to the other side of that glass, stood there looking back at her through the wide windowpane. Somehow Blake was certain that if she lifted a hand to that glass her fingers would pass right through it until they found hers.

If Blake chose to.

Instead, Blake thrashed, tangling the sheets and muttering in her sleep. Even in dreams Blake Belladona didn’t care for the illogical. Life had rules, very basic rules. She firmly believed you were better off following them.  
So she didn’t reach for the glass, or for her. She rolled, almost violently, knocking a pillow to the floor and willing the dream away.  
It faded, and, both relieved and disappointed, she dropped deeper into a dreamless sleep.  
* * *

A few hours later, with the night vision tucked away in her subconscious, she snapped awake at the clattering bell of the Pumpkin Pete's alarm clock at her bedside. One expert slap silenced it. There was no danger that she would snuggle down in the bed and slide back into sleep. Blake's mind was as regulated as her body.

She sat up, indulging in one huge yawn as she dragged her fingers through her tousled cap of dark blond hair. Her eyes, a rich, deep gold she’d inherited from a father she couldn’t remember, were blurry for only a moment. Then they focused on the twisted sheets.

Rough night, she thought, kicking her legs free of them. And why not? It could hardly have been expected that she’d sleep like a baby, not with what she had to do today. After blowing out one long breath, she plucked a pair of gym shorts from the floor and yanked them on under the T-shirt she’d slept in. Five minutes later, she was stepping out into the soft-aired morning for her daily three-mile jog.

As she went out, she kissed the tips of her fingers and tapped them against the front door. Because it was her place. Hers. And even after four years she didn’t take it for granted.

It wasn’t much, she thought as she limbered up with a few stretches. Just a little stucco building tucked between a Laundromat and a struggling accounting firm. But then, she didn’t need much.

Blake ignored the whistle from the car that passed, its driver grinning appreciatively at her long, leanly muscled legs. She didn’t jog for her looks. She jogged because routine exercise disciplined the mind and the body. A private investigator who allowed either to become sluggish would find herself in trouble. Or unemployed. Blake didn’t intend to be either.

Blake started out at an easy pace, enjoying the way her shoes slapped the sidewalk, delighted by the pearly glow in the eastern sky that signaled the start of a beautiful day. It was August, and she thought of how miserably hot it would be down in Vale. But here, in Mistral, there was perpetual spring. No matter what the calendar said, the air was as fresh as a rosebud.

It was too early for there to be much traffic. Here in the downtown area it would be a rare thing for her to pass another jogger. If she’d chosen any of the beaches, it would have been a different matter. But Blake preferred to run alone.

Her muscles began to warm. A thin layer of sweat gleamed healthily on her skin. She increased her pace slightly, falling into a familiar rhythm that had become as automatic as breathing.

For the first mile, she kept her mind empty, letting herself observe. A car with a faulty muffler rattled by, with no more than a token hesitation at a stop sign.

An ’82 Plymouth sedan, dark blue. The mental list was just to keep in practice. Dented driver’s door. Vacuan license Able Charlie Robert 2289.

Someone was lying facedown on the grass of the park. Even as Blake broke her stride, he sat up, stretched and switched on a portable radio.

College student hitchhiking cross-country, she decided, picking up her pace again even as she made a note of his backpack … blue, with a Vale symbol on the flap … and his hair color … brown … and … Name That Tune, she thought as the music began to fade behind her.

The Achieve Men “Nevermore”

Not too shabby, Blake thought with a grin as she rounded a corner.

She could smell bread from the bakery. A fine, yeasty good-morning scent. And roses. She drew them in—though she would have suffered torture before admitting she had a weakness for flowers. Trees moved gently in the early breeze, and if she concentrated, really concentrated, she could just scent the sea.

And it was good, so very good, to feel strong and aware and alone. It was good to know these streets and to know she belonged here. That she could stay here. That there would be no midnight rambles in a battered station wagon at her mother’s whim.

Time to go, Blake Belladona. Time to head out. I’ve just got a feeling we should head north for a while.

And so they would go, she and the mother she adored, the mother who would always be more of a child than the daughter who huddled on the ripped and taped front seat beside her. The headlights would cut down the road, leading the way to a new place, a new school, new people.

But they would never settle, never have time to become a part of anything but the road. Soon her mother would get what she always called “Those itchy feet.” And off they would go again.

Why had it always felt as if they were running away, not running to?

That, of course, was all over. Kali Belladonna had herself a cozy mobile home—which would take Blake another twenty-six months to pay off—and she was happy as a clam, bopping from state to state and adventure to adventure.

As for Blake, she was sticking. True, Vale hadn’t worked out, but she’d gotten a taste of what it was like to put down roots. And she’d had two very frustrating and very educational years on Vale PD. Two years that had taught her that law enforcement was just her cup of tea, even if writing parking tickets and filling out forms was not.

So she had moved north and opened Belladonna Investigations. She still filled out forms—often by the truckload—but they were her forms.

She’d reached the halfway point of her run and was circling back. As always, she felt that quick rush of satisfaction at the knowledge that her body responded so automatically. It had taken time and discipline, but she was twenty-eight now, and she’d gotten her body under control. Yes, sir. It had never been a disappointment to Blake that she hadn’t bloomed and rounded. Slim and sleek was more efficient. And the long, coltish legs that were now strong, athletic and—she could admit privately—worth a second look.  
It was then that she heard the baby crying. It was a fussy, impatient sound that bounded through an open window of the apartment building beside her. Her mood, buoyed by the run, plummeted.

The baby. Nora’s baby. Sweet, pudgy-cheeked Njall.

Blake continued to run. The habit was too ingrained to be broken. But her mind filled with images.

Nora, strong, with her long red hair and her easy smile. Even with Blake’s natural reserve, it had been impossible to refuse her friendship.

Nora worked as a waitress in the little Italian restaurant two blocks from Blake’s office. It had been easy to fall into a casual conversation—particularly since Nora did most of the talking—over a plate of spaghetti or a cup of cappuccino.

Blake remembered admiring the way Nora hustled trays, even though her pregnant belly strained against her apron. And she remembered Nora telling her how happy she and her Ren were to be expecting their first child.

Blake had even been invited to the baby shower, and though she’d been certain she would feel awkward and out of place at such a gathering, she’d enjoyed listening to the oohs and aahs over the tiny clothes and the stuffed animals. She’d taken a liking to Ren too, with his shy eyes and slow smiles.

When Njall had been born, eight months ago, she’d gone to the hospital to visit. As she’d stared at the babies sleeping, bawling or wriggling in their clear-sided cribs, she’d understood why people prayed and struggled and sacrificed to have children.

They were so perfect. So perfectly lovely.  
When she’d left, she was happy for Nora and Ren. And lonelier than she’d ever been in her life.

It had become a habit for her to drop by their apartment from time to time with a little toy for Njall. As an excuse, of course, an excuse to play with him for an hour. She’d fallen more than a little in love with him, so she hadn’t felt foolish exclaiming over his first tooth, or being astounded when he learned to crawl.

Then that frantic phone call two months before. Nora's voice, shrill and nearly incoherent.

“He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone.”

Blake had made the mile from her office to the Lie home in record time. The police had already been there. Ren and Nora had been clutched together on the sofa like two lost souls in a choppy sea. Both of them crying.  
Njall was gone. Snatched off his playpen mat as he napped in the shade on the little patch of grass just outside the rear door of their first-floor apartment.

Now two months had passed, and the playpen was still empty.

Everything Blake had learned, everything she’d been trained to do and her instincts had taught her, hadn’t helped get Njall back.  
Now Nora wanted to try something else, something so absurd that Blake would have laughed—if not for the hard glint of determination in Nora’s usually soft eyes. Nora didn’t care what Ren said, what the police said, what Blake said. She would try anything, anything, to get her child back.  
Even if that meant going to a psychic.  
* * *

As they swept down the coast of Mistral in Blake’s cranky, primer-coated MG, she took one last shot at talking sense to Nora.

“Nora …”

“There’s no use trying to talk me out of this.” Though Nora’s voice was low, there was steel in it that had only surfaced over the last two months. “Ren’s already tried.”

“That’s because we both care about you. Neither one of us wants to see you hurt by another dead end.”

She was only twenty-five, but Nora felt as old as the sea that spread out beneath them. As old as the sea, and as hard as the rocks jutting out from cliffs beside them. “Hurt? Nothing can come close to hurting me now. I know you care, Blake, and I know it’s asking a lot for you to go with me today …”

“It’s not—”

“It is.” Nora’s eyes, always so bright and cheery before, were shadowed with a grief and a fear that never ended. “I know you think it’s nonsense, and maybe it’s even insulting, since you’re doing all you can do to find Njall. But I have to try. I have to try just anything.”

Blake kept her silence for a moment, because it shamed her to realize that she was insulted. She was trained, she was a professional, and here they were cruising down the coast to see some witch doctor.

But she wasn’t the one who had lost a child. She wasn’t the one who had to face that empty crib day after day.

“We’re going to find Njall, Nora.” Blake took her hand off the rattling gearshift long enough to squeeze Nora’s chilled fingers. “I swear it.”

Instead of answering, Nora merely nodded and turned her head to stare out over the dizzying cliffs. If they didn’t find her baby, and find him soon, it would be all too easy just to step out over one of those cliffs and let go of the world.


End file.
